#1063 - Strength Opens the Way

Renly's background had been revealed.

It was unexpected, but it also made perfect sense. The London aristocracy took it with surprising calmness, as if they had already sensed something from the West End premiere night and the buzz it had generated. People would still talk, they would still be curious, and they would still gossip, but the tides of change were inevitable, and in time, the waves would settle.

On both ends of the phone, George and Elizabeth remained silent, refusing to communicate or reveal their true thoughts—even as a couple.

"So, what should we do?" Elizabeth finally spoke. She needed to understand George's stance and how they should handle the situation within their social circle.

George sneered, not bothering to conceal his disdain. His voice was clear through the receiver. "Elizabeth, don't you understand the world we live in? The internet exposes everything. Everyone knows about it now. If we pretend we don't, we'll only make fools of ourselves."

Elizabeth frowned slightly. "So, he won?"

She understood what he was implying: they had to acknowledge Renly's existence, they had to accept his profession. It wasn't about recognition, but acknowledgment. For them, it felt like a real failure.

George went silent. He couldn't bring himself to admit it aloud.

The pride and dignity of the nobility forbade him from admitting failure, especially not to a child. But deep down, George knew that this phone call—this exchange of swearing and taunting—was the very essence of retribution.

"Viscount Harpertin will visit me today. I have work to do," George said, changing the subject abruptly and ending the call without another word.

Elizabeth understood the underlying meaning: George had chosen to bow his head.

The Viscount, George's chosen guest, was a hereditary aristocrat from Edinburgh—far from the heart of London's social scene, but powerful in Scotland with a large family. Only twenty-nine years old, Harpertin was an art enthusiast, with a love for painting, sculpture, literature, and drama. This was a clear signal—George was using Renly's success to forge connections.

Renly, with his talent and strength, was breaking down class barriers and creating his own world. George, however, needed to use Renly's influence to elevate himself. It was a sad irony.

After hanging up the phone, Elizabeth sat still in her chair, lost in thought.

Where did things go wrong?

"Knock, knock."

A soft knock interrupted her musings. Elizabeth took a deep breath. "Please, come in."

Cecilia gently pushed open the office door. "Ma'am, Princess Beatrice is here to visit."

Elizabeth froze for a moment. Princess Beatrice, seventh in line to the throne, was an unexpected visitor. Although the princess was known for being approachable, Elizabeth had no personal connection to her. This sudden visit caught her off guard.

Elizabeth composed herself, nodding slightly. "Please wait a moment, I'll be right out."

Princess Beatrice was known for her love of art galleries, and Elizabeth could already imagine the rumors that would spread. Her gallery would soon be swarming with high society, just as she had worked for.

As she quickly tidied up, Elizabeth's mind raced. George was playing his cards with Viscount Harpertin; she, on the other hand, had long worked in her own way—building her career as an artist. Their paths were different, but both needed connections.

With a smile of satisfaction, Elizabeth left the office to greet Beatrice, who was already admiring a painting.

Beatrice, born in 1988, was just twenty-four years old. Often lauded as the most beautiful princess to marry, she was loved in aristocratic circles for her approachable and cheerful nature.

Elizabeth approached Beatrice quietly, standing beside her to admire the painting without speaking.

After a moment, Beatrice whispered, "Is this painting about sadness? I can feel the artist's sadness and struggle in the brushstrokes. The color transitions are so emotional, but I'm curious—why the bright colors?"

"Because he believes that even the sun has a soft, sentimental side," Elizabeth replied smoothly. "The clash of gold and ivory reflects the gentleness of his heart." She spoke with ease, not needing to elaborate further on the artist. "The painter is an intriguing man. He's traveled the world—like a modern-day wanderer. This piece was completed in Casablanca."

Beatrice's eyes widened slightly, and after a moment of thought, she nodded in appreciation.

The two continued discussing the art, before turning to introductions. Beatrice seemed a little shy, "I'm sorry for not saying hello earlier. I hope it wasn't too rude to show up unannounced."

"Not at all, anytime," Elizabeth replied with a gracious smile. "Cecilia is an excellent art dealer. If you ever need anything, feel free to stop by anytime."

Beatrice blushed, giving an exaggerated grin. "I might visit more often. I love art, but I'm afraid I have no talent myself. I tried to create once, but it was a disaster," she laughed, her youthfulness breaking the stiffness of aristocratic restraint.

Elizabeth smiled politely but didn't comment. After the laughter faded, Beatrice grew more serious.

"This weekend, I'm hosting a small private party at home. I recently found two paintings in Florence, and I'd love for you to come and view them before I show them to the public. I'm always second-guessing my taste."

"Paintings from Florence?" Elizabeth's eyes gleamed with interest. "Of course, I'd be honored. Is this a private event or a public viewing?"

"A private party," Beatrice explained with a shy smile. "I want to show them to a select few first, before the official unveiling."

"Of course, I understand," Elizabeth replied with a knowing look. "Anything else? If you need help, just ask, and I'll do my best."

Elizabeth was already thinking about how to integrate Beatrice into her social circle. If Beatrice became a regular at the gallery, it could do wonders for her career. Maybe next time, she could even invite other aristocratic friends, and in time, a year from now, Prince William might be at one of her private gatherings.

Her thoughts were already expanding, but her face remained serene and poised. The difference between her and Beatrice was evident. While Elizabeth mastered tradition and etiquette, Beatrice, like many young people, seemed less concerned with such formalities.

"Ms. Elizabeth," Beatrice hesitated.

"Please, just call me Elizabeth," Elizabeth smiled warmly.

"Elizabeth," Beatrice said shyly. "I know this may be rude, but… would it be possible to send an invitation to Renly?"

Elizabeth's heart skipped a beat.

"Since I saw him in Les Miserables on the West End, I've thought he's an extraordinary actor. I've heard he's also deeply knowledgeable in painting and literature—almost as skilled in those as he is with the piano. If I could meet him, it would be wonderful..."

Beatrice's words lingered in the air, but Elizabeth's mind was spinning. She kept her composure, but her eyes betrayed the panic she felt.

She had forgotten—they had forgotten.

Times had changed. Even the queen had redefined the royal family's role over the centuries. The boundary between the royals and the people was blurring, and aristocrats were no exception. Talent now transcended class, and in the realm of art, strength was the key to breaking barriers.

People no longer looked down on mediocre artists. Talented ones could claim their place among the elite, even become the object of admiration for the nobility. Strength, in the end, was the best way to break free from limitations.